the morgue is never a lonely place
by crearealidad
Summary: Beckett seeks out a safe place. Then offers one to someone else. Contains spoilers up through "Limey" as of Chapter 3. Rating primarily for some language and implied violence. series of connected one shots
1. Chapter 1

the morgue is never a lonely place

This is set in the middle of "Kill Shot", so obviously, you will likely find spoilers here if by some chance you haven't seen it yet.

This fic is a response to the comment_fic prompt for a Lanie/Beckett fic with my title as the prompt. It could be interpreted as friendship or something more, but this particular plot is more about comfort than anything romantic.

* * *

She's there when I come crashing through the doors, poised over a body with her tools in hand, hands covered in gloves and startled. But it only takes her a moment to set down her scalpel and within a single breathe, the gloves are off and her arm is around my shoulders. "What the hell happened?"

From anyone else the words would have felt harsh, but she's all clean soap and warmth as she draws me over to a chair, pushing my curls back behind my ears without hesitation, without fear. I can't talk but she doesn't speak again, just reaches for a tissue from behind me somewhere, pressing it into my shaking fingers. I shred it before it can be useful even though her fingers are stroking my hair and somewhere in the back of my mind I know that I'm safe here.

There are no windows down here, nothing but steel tables and doors, brick walls and Lanie. No matter how cold or empty or full of the dead this place may be, it will never be empty. Never be lonely because of _her_ and it doesn't surprise me that even without thinking, I ended up here.

She stays silent while I shake and _don't cry_ until she realizes that there's blood on the shreds of tissue I've dropped and then she's grabbing my elbow, straightening out my arm with a strength I forget sometimes that she has and pushing the leather jacket up. Anyone else would have been afraid to be so bold, afraid of _me_ but she's not and the moment she sees the gash on my arm even she can't hide the gasp of surprise at seeing my skin split open.

"Kate…" her voice is soft and soothing, maybe just a bit scolding and before I can say anything she's taken off my jacket and is pulling off the long sleeved t-shirt I'd thrown on to hide the patch of gauze I'd taped on to hold back the blood. Closing my eyes, I try to hide from her gaze but the moment my eyelids close I can feel the darkness creeping back in, and the sound of her heel on the linoleum sounds like a gunshot, throwing me onto my feet.

Once more she draws me in, this time she's face to face with me and her hands are on my shoulders, guiding me back down in the chair with a gentle "Shhhh, just sit. I got you."

She stays there, her face filling my field of vision until at least I can breath and somehow I manage to focus on her familiar features. Her fingers are combing through my hair and slowly, somehow, it brings me back. The morgue is suddenly warm and exhaustion creeps up on me, pulling away whatever fight I might have had left. If the sniper walks in the door now, I would do nothing. I was nothing.

Lanie's lips tighten to a frown and she locks her eyes on me, waiting. Waiting for me to come back but I am drifting. She moves to stand, but without even thinking, I reach out, grabbing at her wrist with my good hand and hold her there. I need to see her _there_ and she understands and she stays.

It may be hours for all I know that she stays, squatting in front of me, silently waiting while I find a handhold on reality. When she shifts, her knees crack from the strain and I feel guilt sweep in, coating over my numbness easily as I watch her try to mask her discomfort. I am here now, at least not lost in the maze of memories and nightmares that refused to let go.

Sighing, I manage to loosen my grip on her wrist and she gives me a little nod.

Dropping a kiss on my cheek, Lanie rises, then turns away to retrieve her first aid supplies. She sets them on the desk beside me. Next, she grabs for another chair, pulling it up in front of mine, taking my hand without asking. Still, she remains silent as she cleans the wound, applying a line of butterfly bandages before covering it with a gauze pad and adding a wrap to hold it in place.

Only when the wound is sufficiently covered does she finally speak, her voice raspy as her own tears come to life. "I'm worried about you, girl. I ain't gonna make you tell me, cuz I know you won't. But _this_ is not okay."

"Lanie, I…" I try to speak, try to explain to her that I didn't do this intentionally.

Those brown eyes are shining with tears and I can feel just how much _she cares. _Her face softens and her arm comes back, heavily draping over my shoulder, pulling me against her side. "I know. I'm just glad you didn't hide it from me."

The words weigh heavily on my mind, but I push them out, turning my face to press into her scrubs, sinking into the warmth of her, letting her hold me. "Lanie, I… This is just…"

I don't know what I want to tell her; don't even know how I feel. The anxiety is still lurking right there outside the door to the morgue, ready to pounce on me once more. I thought I'd left this behind, this _trauma_, but there it is, ready to leap out and grab me by the throat at the drop of a pin.

"Shhh… We'll talk later. Just let me help you get ready," Lanie whispers, her voice somewhere close to the top of my head, close enough I can feel her breath on my hair.

I nod and feel her moving again, spinning me in the chair as she pulls open her desk drawer. "Gonna fix up this hair. You look like you got fucked in a wind storm," she teases, her hand resting on my neck, squeezing gently. The joke is a bit awkward but I laugh anyway, because it feels like peace and normalcy and everything I love about Lanie.

I shake my head, sighing as she starts with her fingers, gently loosening the matted curls. Fingertips curl against my scalp and brush against my ears and tangle in my hair as she smoothes and scrunches the angry locks gently, occasionally spritzing on something that smells vaguely fruity. Without even touching it, I know she'd tamed the frizzy, tangled mess, even as she's muttering curses about how difficult my hair is. By the time she manages to gather it at the base of my skull to wrap it into a loose bun, she's lulled my nerves, allowed my stomach to settle for the first time in nearly twenty four hours.

"There, you might be almost presentable," she declares, spinning me round to face her. I try to give her a smile which she accepts with a light caress of my cheek. She frowns slightly, reaching into her desk drawer for something else. Producing a wet wipe, she leans in closer, carefully swiping the soft aloe scented cloth over my face, then down my neck and along my jaw, cleaning away the evidence of whatever damage she found there.

Tossing the cloth into the trash bin, she falters for the first time, leaning into her desk and staring down at me. Then she draws herself up, her shoulders pulling back and she lets out a sigh, her eyes falling shut. "You heading in to work?"

I let the question hang, making a courtesy glance at the clock as though it really mattered that it's three in the morning and that no one else is going to be in the precinct. "Yeah, our guy is still out there."

She doesn't look at me, but nods. Her fingers are gripping the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles are paled and I wish that she didn't care about me. I'm not ready to name what happened and even less ready to share but she's fixed up my arm, patched it over and is sending me back to this case.

My lips part, wanting to say something but I still don't have the words. Only a sigh comes out and I manage to get up out of the chair, standing in front of her and waiting for her to look at me.

There are tear tracts on her caramel colored cheeks and it's an instinct that makes me lean in to kiss them. I don't have words but I hope that this says something to her. Her eyelashes flutter against my own and she suddenly breathes against my lips as if she's been holding it in for hours and I look up to find she'd looking at me.

_I hate this._

She still has more tears and I still have no words so I kiss her nose and put my good arm around her shoulders, tucking my chin over her shoulder and hold her there against me because it's what I need, and I can only hope that it helps her too. One of us is shuddering, shaking with something that might be tears and I'm not sure that it's not me.

It's so quiet in here that I can hear every sniffle and gasp as her arms slide around me, encircling my waist and clutching me to silently demand _don't you dare go anywhere._

The door to the morgue feels so much farther away here and I let my eyes close and for the first time since this began, I just see her. I draw in a breath and somehow I manage to tell her, "I'm not okay, but I'm gonna be. I am."

Her face turns and her lips are against my neck, letting me feel each breath she takes. She stays there, breathing on me and holding me and refusing to let me go until I feel a chill run through me. This is still the morgue and she took my jacket and I haven't eaten _anything_ since yesterday. Booze can only keep you warm for so long.

I draw back carefully, wary of what lurks outside _this place_. She's just as a cautious and reaches for my jacket as we draw apart, helping me slide it on. "You know where to find me…" she offers, unnecessarily.

Nodding, I give in to my need to touch her one more time, my fingers sliding along her hair, hooking it behind her ears like she did for me. "I know," I manage to tell her, tugging my jacket on tighter and preparing myself for the empty bullpen and everything else that isn't here.

If I don't move, I won't go, so I turn and head for the doors, nearly out the door when she calls my name again. "Kate?"

I turn to face her, but can't speak. I'm on the line between here and _not here_, so all I can do is wait.

"I will come find you."


	2. Chapter 2

So yeah, headed to bad territory for me. This wasn't really meant to be more than a one shot, but now I've got ideas for several more, though truthfully, they'll be more like a series of loosely connected one shots. Go figure. Plus, I already have another multi-chapter fic going… Wish me good luck.

I half expect to find Lanie in a Santa hat with all the holiday glee she's been spreading these past few days, but instead, I find her in emerald scrubs that lighten her dark eyes and nearly glow against the muted monochrome of the morgue. The room reeks of stale booze, body odor, and decay – the source of which seems to be the plump, dirt coated corpse on her table.

Lane's head is bent down, examining the bloated fingertips of the decomposing man in front of her.

"Something tells me he started to rot long before he died," I suggest, more to catch her attention than to make a joke. I move towards her desk, avoiding approaching the table because normally the cool air and the vents and the disinfectant keep it from being _this bad._ My nostrils burn and eyes water and I wonder how Lanie's remained at his side for all this time.

"Somethin like that," she replies as I lean against her desk, tilting myself back. She isn't looking up yet; she's still preoccupied with those stubby gray fingers. "Thought you'd be at Castle's loft for the party."

"I'm on call," I explain quickly and even though she's busy reaching for a fingerprint card and rolling the dead guy's inked fingers over the boxes, she still manages a nearly inaudible _uhuh._

My excuse is flimsy, but she's busy and it doesn't go any further.

"Figured you might want some company, though I wasn't expecting… " I add, waving vaguely at the smell as if that might dissipate the overpowering scent that's distracting me from what brought me here in the first place.

"Don't tell me the great Kate Beckett's gonna get a little green over a homeless popcycle," Lanie teases, tossing a quick glance my way before laughing. She takes the fingerprint card to her evidence collection table, labeling it quickly as she continues. "Better not let Castle know. He'll have Nikki Heat dropping over the smell of decomp left and right just to give Rook the chance to scoop her up."

We both laugh in spite of the weak joke and then she peels off her gloves and comes over to me. Her laugh falls silent when she finally looks at me and her brow creases with a frown, mine still echoing a bit loud and long.

"Detective Beckett, I do believe you're drunk," she accuses suddenly, all puckered lips and swagger. Those eyes size me up for a moment, trying to decide for a moment whether or not she approves.

Truthfully, I'd pretty much forgotten that I'd downed two glasses of scotch on a nearly empty and nervous stomach less than an hour ago. I'm already shaking my head no when the giggle I expel at trying to deny it comes out – it has _tipsy_ written all over it.

This really isn't a time to giggle, but it spills out and Lanie's face relaxes, rolling her eyes indulgently. "Girl, good for you. I hope there was mistletoe?"

That earns her a snort that I didn't plan. Shaking her head, she begins to appraise my appearance with the corner of her lip curling upward in a slight indication of approval. She's eyeing my boots when she smiles, knowing they are the black stiletto heeled pair that haven't left the relative safety of my closet since before my shooting. The rest is fairly standard – dark clinging denim, a green sweater tucked under my fleece lined leather coat – so her eyes just keep going back to those heels.

I really should dissuade her but I've just managed to get my giggling under control and the best I can do is to tell her, "No mistletoe… didn't even see him."

Lanie tsks under her breath, pursing her lips as she draws her arms up to cross over her chest. She's all color against the dull backdrop and I smile as she prepares herself for "dig Kate out of her cave" mode. I might have kept giggling but my stomach turns and I close my eyes, swallowing down the nausea with a seething glare at the odor producing man on the table.

The smell triggers the reaction, but once the wave passes, it's the red-rimmed, too-blue eyes of Alexis Castle that stop the alcohol-inspired giggles. They'd seemed so large, so delicate, like they could shatter merely from the weight of her tears and that was what had really brought me here, not matter what else I told Lanie tonight. The little redhead had poured the scotch to soften the blow of her own words, so sweet that even in her pain, she couldn't bear the guilt of hurting me back.

If I'm honest, the only real comfort the scotch offered me was the ability to walk out the door, to catch a cab down to the morgue to find Lanie to help me sort this out. On the ride over, her eyes had been burned into my mind, and I'd forced my eyes wide, facing down the flashing, glittering lights of New York City at Christmas, letting their glaring beams eat away at the heartbreaking image.

But now…

I am brittle. Broken. Shattered. I'd done that to that girl who certainly was far more extraordinary that I could ever be. The hurt radiated from her and I just wish I'd had a single instinct that could offer her _something. _But I had nothing. Meanwhile, she'd managed to pull back, apologize, explain. She's poured me glasses of her dad's scotch and besmirched his honor and laughed about his stubborn unwillingness to grow up. I'd left her sitting at the kitchen counter, smiling if a bit misty eyed, waiting for her father to return to start the celebration. But me… I just broke.

Lanie is still waiting for an explanation, the corpse on her table forgotten as she patiently stares me down.

There are tears hanging in the corners of my eyes and I blink them back. _I know it's not your fault that my dad is such a doofus._

A sort of laugh comes out of me then, remembering the words the girl had spoken as she'd passed me that first glass of scotch. I was moments away from crying, but the joke had stopped it. Her affection so obvious and loving and just _there._

"Little Castle is something else, you know," I offer Lanie in lieu of a real explanation. The laugh seems to have startled her and my reasoning seems to only confuse her further.

"That she is. But surely you're not stupid enough to get liquored up with that man's daughter."

Accusations shoot at me from those brown eyes, but I laugh them off, sliding myself to perch on the edge of Lanie's desk, letting my legs stretch and cross in front of me at the ankles. We both know that she knows better than to think that, but then we both know that she's dancing around her real question.

"Of course not. She just poured the drinks."

I try to let it slide out easily. Off hand with a little shrug of my shoulders. I keep my head down, eyes on my boots.

"Pretty sure that's not quite legal." Lanie plays along, coming to sit next to me on her desk. A file folder slides of the edge but it's ignored.

"Turning her down just didn't seem like an option at the time," I toss back, bumping my shoulder against Lanie's playfully.

We both tilt our faces towards one another and even though I'm letting out a little giggle, she's dead serious. She shrugs and grabs my hand, not giving me a choice, then glances back at her body.

"So she finally let you have it for letting Castle play hero, huh?" I think I nod and she squeezes my hand. "So were the drinks before or after this little speech?"

"After. She blew up at me… It was awful. But then she just… deflated. Melted. Then she just couldn't stop apologizing for, and I quote, _being a massive bitch_."

We both laugh and Lanie tucks me under her arm, pulling me close. "So then she what, poured you shots to drown your sorrows in?"

"Something like that," I draw in a deep breath, my nerves settling slightly at letting it out. But it only serves to pull more of the noxious odor into my lungs and I can't stop myself from choking and coughing and sputtering until Lanie is patting on my back.

"You really should go back to that party. Bound to smell better and you've only got maybe an hour more on-call tonight. Let little Castle make it up to you some more," Lanie prompts as I finally stop hacking.

My throats a little ragged but I take short shallow breaths and head towards the door. "Maybe I'll do that. You really should… I don't know, let him air out or something. That's just…"

"I know, right? Lovely stinking Christmas."

Lanie's already stepping back towards the table and pulling on her gloves. "Drinks tomorrow night?" I ask her, wishing I could drag her out with me to the party.

"Sure thing. Hopefully that'll give me time to wash this guy outta my hair."


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers: Set between "Limey" and "Headhunters"

Summary: I could almost see the specter of missing mothers looming large between us – almost connecting us. Almost because I had nineteen years of all the way, and she would likely end up with a lifetime of halfway, haphazard, and never ever enough.

Note: This story is slightly different from the last two and could technically stand alone, but it came from the same place, so I wanted to keep it together.

* * *

This first time I entered the morgue to find a startled Alexis Castle instead of the impatient M.E. who had called me there, I stopped short, door swinging a bit too close at my back. Gone were the words I'd been about to utter about a narrow alibi and needing a timeline. The redhead had jumped, eyes blue and startlingly bright at my (apparent) door-banging entrance.

Her lips popped open to speak, but only a strangled, incoherent syllable escaped before her jaw clamped shut as she knelt down to retrieve the folder and papers that I'd clearly scared from her grasp. Only then did I spot the dangling cord that draped from her ears down to her scrubs before disappearing into the pocket. She was listening to music, probably hadn't even heard my boots out in the hall before I'd come bursting through the doorway. When she stood back up, file in her small still-shaking hand, her other hand plucked the earbuds free, looping the cord behind her neck. "Ka—Detective Beckett. Sorry. I didn't hear you… It was too quiet and I…" she stammered.

Nervously, she shifted her weight, her guilt easily matched my own as her voice shook and she tried to look anywhere but at my face. They came to settle on the file folder she was still clutching in her hand. She was gathering her thoughts, stuffing the papers back into alignment that had fallen free during their tumble to the floor, and when she looked back up at me, she seemed to have regained some of her focus. "Doctor Parrish was called out to an unattended death right after she called you. She knew you were on your way so rather than make you turn around because she knew you needed this stuff, she asked me to wait for you. She left some notes, even though she really only had time for some preliminary findings and hasn't exactly gotten to the autopsy yet, she said a lot of this would be helpful, so she thought I could… take care of it-"

Her voice was wavering and she was clutching those notes like her life depended on it, staring me down and forgetting to breath between her words. She drew in a quick breath, obviously still grasping to re-collect her thoughts, but I caught up first, and moved across the morgue to where she stood by Lanie's desk. My hand dropped on her forearm out of some unrecognizable instinct to calm her, and slid the file from her fingers.

"Alexis," I began unnecessarily, feeling her draw another breath. Her hand settled but I could still see the nervous edge to her tight lips and rapidly blinking lashes, so I lead her to the edge of the desk, opening the file there on the surface and giving her time.

She stared down at pages, silently collecting herself and I realized for the first time that my heart was racing as well. Even if I was the one who'd come blasting through the door on a mission, I hadn't expected to find her there alone. Or to put her so on edge. Truthfully, I'd never considered the possibility that Lanie wouldn't be here, anticipating my arrival from the moment I exited the elevator. Lanie knew me, knew how my focus could make little things like opening the door like a polite human being go out the window. She'd learned long ago and I recalled the not-quite-friendly slap on the shoulder she'd given me once upon a time for barging in on her so unceremoniously and almost laughed.

"Don't feel bad. I once barged in here so hard the door bounced off the wall. Lanie shrieked like a cat and hurled a scalpel at me," I explained, the story sort of tumbling out before I could think. The young woman gasped, gaping at me and I could see her eyes tracing over my arms and my face as though wondering _How bad was it? _and _Where did it hit you?_

Immediately I jumped back in, the hand on her arm tightening gently. "Oh, no. She missed me entirely. But she was so pissed off. Made me walk all the way back out to the elevator and then come back in 'like a grown up'. I'm pretty sure she scolded me for weeks after that. I guess the lesson didn't take, huh?" I joked, encouraged when it earned me a ghost of a giggle and a shake of the head. "I forget sometimes, when I'm wrapped up in a case, going in and out, what it's like to be down here all the time. You spend most of your day in the quiet, surrounded by this…"

"Even when the families show up, it's different," she continued tenuously, her voice much softer now. "They get off the elevator and I can just tell that they're overwhelmed more than anything else. It's a lot to get used to, knowing this is a place for the dead. The rest of it comes later. The sadness, sometimes the anger or the fear. But by that time they're here and you're watching them and sort of… see it coming."

Her eyes were gently sweeping around the room, a look I thought I recognized. She seemed to be recalling them, the families and friends and lovers who'd entered this space, replaying their actions and emotions as she considered her place in all of that. I knew I should draw her focus back to the case; the guys were waiting with our suspect upstairs. But nearly old enough for college suddenly seemed way too young for this place and I had set off this reaction and it seemed inherently wrong to ignore the consequences.

I felt her withdraw her arm from my grasp, then shift, her fingers searching blindly until she managed to tangle her clammy fingers into mine. Her grip was surprisingly strong and very certain in its destination as she lifted her chin slightly until she was looking at me from beneath her lowered lashes, half from the corner of her eye. "It's easier, when Lanie is here. She's amazing and dedicated… She keeps me focused on what's important – on making a difference for these people and their loved ones. But today she left and it just… I had to put my headphones to keep out all that sadness."

The words sounded almost like an apology and I had no idea how to respond.

Eventually, I managed a hesitant nod, hoping to convey something like agreement and reassurance and acceptance of her actions. My hand squeezed hers and I tried to meet that lowered gaze and found myself immediately caught up in her silent questions. She shifted with a little gulp, making me wonder when this had all become so complicated. I had only known her for four years, but somehow the intelligent, mature for her age young woman in front of me was tangled up in the image of a laughing little girl who pranced through parks and across beaches and on top of furniture on the walls of the Castle home. She was eighteen, only a year short of where I had been when my world had come crashing in on me and so much more responsible than I'd even been back then. Had I really been this young? Was this what my own dad had faced that first night after the funeral – a little girl hidden inside a nearly grown body asking a thousand questions without saying a word?

Her gaze was muddled with growing confusion as she waited for me to _do something._ No one had died, her father was safe and sound somewhere and yet being in this place had her facing down violence and death and fear in ways that I had never known at her age.

"Is it too much?" I asked her, the question escaping my lips as it simultaneously came to mind.

To her credit, she managed to follow my wayward direction, her eyes skirting around the morgue in consideration, brow furrowing and crinkling her nose slightly. Then her head shook lightly, the loose bun at the base of her head swaying. "I don't think so," she began, her voice a little brighter than the topic deserved. She was still searching the room, her fingers still gripping mine too tight to even consider pulling back. "Admittedly, I probably came into it for the wrong reasons. I know we talked about it, but I don't think I really got it until I was here. And not telling my dad… probably not my best move. But it feels right." This came with a little nod and the tightening of her lips to a pursed frown. "I don't think this is what I want to do forever but it does feel like the right thing. I like seeing how this makes a difference. How it helps people get through. And I'm learning a lot. I think I'm beginning to understand a lot of things that I didn't even realize I needed to know…"

Her words trailed off and I waited, expecting her to continue. But instead, she bit her lower lip, turning to fully face me with a move that was almost a little tug on my hand. Something fluttered nervously in my stomach and if it weren't for her hand, I might have backed up, gotten away. All these little talks we kept having were stacking up to something and she seemed to know it then – her eyes narrowing on my face, little lines forming at the edge of them making her look too much like her father.

I could almost see the specter of missing mothers looming large between us – almost connecting us. Almost because I had nineteen years of all the way, and she would likely end up with a lifetime of halfway, haphazard, and never ever enough.

It was all too much. Those blue eyes, swallowing me up and I could almost feel her arm wrapping around me and it was still just hanging at her side. This was way too much for what should have been autopsy findings and a little gossip before returning for an interrogation. So it was up to me to untangle our fingers and step back from her little leaning, tugging, almost hug. A flicker of hurt crossed her young face, but faded just as quickly, letting what could have been drop away silently.

She was the first to turn and face the file, clearing her throat and ruffling the pages for her starting point. Putting a hand on the desk, I leaned in to read along as she got started. I could have simply taken them with me, read them on my way back, but even if I wasn't prepared to let her in, I wanted to allow her to complete this task she'd been given. To not add to the guilt she'd been harboring by making her think she'd scared me off.

"Your Jane Doe was definitely killed no more than an hour before she was found, so sometime between 5:30am and 6:30am according to Doctor Parrish." Having found her voice, the words seemed to flow easily and she paused, checking me curiously. "The suspect you took in. His alibi ran out at 5:15, right?"

"Exactly. That means that Mr. Rivers' alibi is shot. With the blood and the weapon, it's looking like we were going in the right direction. Did Lanie get a chance to run anything on who our Jane Doe is?" I asked encouragingly.

Her eyes dropped, skimming the notes once more before continuing, "She didn't get anything from her prints or from missing persons. But she did give me some stats to help you expand the search. As she said before, she's in her mid to late thirties. Also, she's five foot six, one hundred and thirty pounds, and while her clothes looked new, they were very inexpensive knock-offs," she paused, eyes flitting up to wait while I jotted down notes, only continuing when I looked up once more. "Also, two things that might help you narrow it down. The first is a tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It's a simple dark blue five-point star about two and half inches across. I already forwarded you a copy of the photo."

"Good, I'll definitely add that to our bulletin. You said there were two things?" I prompted when she paused.

"Oh, yes. The second was her hands. They were extremely dry, cracked. She didn't find any evidence of any sort of skin conditions and felt fairly confident that Jane Doe worked in a job which required her to frequently have her hands in bleach or disinfectant, probably hot water too. Her first thoughts were food service or a hospital, especially considering there was a considerable amount of swelling in her ankles and calves which seemed to be from spending a lot of time on her feet," she explained, her fingers running along the pages, double checking as she went.

She went on to summarize the remaining pages, flipping through with incredible alacrity, glancing over occasionally to ensure I was following as she reiterated the other items Lanie had already surmised at the scene – defensive wounds on her palms and forearms, scuff marks on her knees, and bruising on her face. I couldn't seem to remember having this sense of responsibility or focus at her age. Teenage rebellion and boys had hit hard during that last year of high school, and as she concluded, I wondered at where that ability came from.

"I think that's about all she was able to find before she was called out. She's still calling COD blood loss from the multiple stab wounds, but she told me to remind you that it's not official yet."

For the first time since I'd arrived, her eyes shifted to the table where I victim lay, covered almost entirely by the white sheet. Only a shock of the woman's mussed brown hair was showing and the young girl's gaze caught on it, seemingly unable to look away. She was gnawing at her lower lip again and I put my hand down on the file. I couldn't seem to leave, but it was time to go. I should get back to the suspect, get this taken care of before it got too late.

"Do you think my dad was right?"

The question broke my train of thought, echoed strangely in the small space and I turned with her to face the body. I was almost shoulder to shoulder with her now except that hers came only about to mid-bicep. A dozen answers to her question swirled in my head but I couldn't seem to grasp any given one. Couldn't seem to say anything.

"I mean, about interning here. He has a tendency to be over-protective of me, I know. But sometimes, he has a point, as much as I hate to admit that he can be the grown-up on occasion," she explained, shoving up the sleeves of the long-sleeved white t-shirt she wore under her scrubs before bringing her arms up to cross over her chest. Then she leaned back against the desk, completely out of my peripheral vision.

Drawing in a breath, I stepped away from her to stand next to the table, carefully adjusting the sheet until every lock of Jane Doe's hair was hidden from view. I kept looking down at the vague impression of her face that the white sheet created as I spoke. "Well, he is your dad."

That wasn't really an answer and I knew it. Knew she'd call me on it. But I was in murky territory and still not sure why she just kept coming to me with these questions. My last advice had been wrong, at least in part – Castle had been anything but pleased at discovering his daughter's new position. She had to know and yet here she was, eyes downcast but still stealing glances in my direction and asking me again for advice. She wanted my opinion specifically, because certainly this question could have been directed at other, perhaps more qualified individuals – Lanie maybe or her grandmother.

"I know, but like I said, sometimes he… overreacts to things. He has a tendency to forget that I'm not ten anymore and that I never really believed in the ghosts and princesses and monsters he made up to explain the world. Life isn't all laser tag and Disney movies. Not everything can be fixed with ice cream night. And right now? I just don't know which version of him I'm getting." Frustration breaks of her words and I heard the rough sigh that followed. I looked up just in time to watch her wipe her bangs back, head shaking, her shoulders slumped heavily.

But before I could respond, she pushed herself off the edge of the desk and turned to gather up the papers, recollecting them and fussing with the order.

"Nevermind. I'm sorry I just… dumped that all on you. I'm sure you need to get back," she stammered, fingers flitting across the desk, grasping for a paperclip to refasten the leaf of papers.

I did need to get back, but as I watched a piece of paper go skittering off the desk, sending her spinning to hurriedly collect it, for the first time since I'd entered the morgue, I didn't want to run. I was already making excuses in my head, planning on calling Esposito, letting him handle the details that needed to be hammered out tonight. It was late and I knew the only thing left to do was to update our bulletin on Jane Doe and interview our suspect. Mostly likely, there'd be nothing else to do before morning and I could always come back later if a new lead came up. I wasn't sure when, but this conversation had suddenly become far more important than personally overseeing an interview I knew the guys could handle.

"Don't apologize. That question… sometimes it just takes me a minute to switch gears. Truthfully, there's really not a lot that can get done tonight since we've pretty much got what we need to hold our guy till morning. Especially without an ID on our victim, it's going to be near impossible to start checking for other possible suspects," I explained, hoping she wouldn't hear all of the half truths that were passing my lips.

Her blue eyes flashed up at me, a near grin on her face. "Really?"

Enthusiasm was definitely not what I'd been expecting. "Definitely. Why don't you go change and we can get some dinner and talk? The guys owe me and can finish up the couple of things that need to be done tonight. I need to check in with Lanie, but then we'll go, sound good?" I asked, watching as those pink lips turned fully up in a beautiful, if still slightly nervous, smile.

I watched as her hands faltered, once more considering engulfing me in a hug. But she swallowed it quickly, hands swinging behind her back and catching. "Thanks, Detective Beckett."

I almost corrected her with a _Kate_ but stopped myself, offering instead just, "You're welcome."

With one last quick smile, she ducked into the locker room, leaving me alone. My round of phone calls went surprisingly quickly. To my surprise, Esposito didn't even pause to ask why I was cutting out, just accepted it, and implied that my decision would leave more of the Thai food they'd ordered for them and that I'd be the one missing out. Alexis was still changing as I dialed Lanie, intending fully to leave out my plans for the evening with her young intern. Her call-out had turned out to be far more complex than she'd expected and after a quick confirmation that her notes had been passed along, she asked me to tell Alexis to head home, and warned me to do the same.

When the redhead re-emerged from the locker room, hair released from the bun and wavier than I'd ever seen it, she seemed once again shy, but still smiling. The jeans and corduroy jacket tugged over a t-shirt suited her better, reminded me that she was resilient. That just because she was having a rough night didn't mean I'd destroyed her life by dragging first her father and then her into this world of murderers and dead people. Her tan jacket was lined in dark navy blue with tiny little pink flowers printed on it that reminded me of a bright red rain slicker I'd had as a child and I had to blink away the memory as she came to face me.

"Did you talk to Doctor Parrish? Do we need to wait for her to get back?" she asked, glancing around briefly.

"No, after I talked with Espo, I gave her a call and she's giving you the night off. Seems her DB is in an older house and the structure was deemed unstable. They're having to do some re-enforcing before she can even enter. So we're both free to leave," I told her, trying to force lightness into my voice. I doubt she bought it, but she accepted it, giving a brief nod before slinging her purse over her shoulder with a small smile.

I lead the way and as we paused to wait for the elevator, a thought occurred to me. The question felt awkward because she was eighteen and I wasn't any kind of babysitter, not really even a friend. A few weeks ago, the term "family" might have felt slightly acceptable, but the awkwardness since then left that feeling hollow and overly-sentimental and hopeful in ways that I shouldn't be allowing myself. But I forced out the question anyway, hoping she would understand. "Should you call your dad? Let him know?"

The question earned me only a moment of suspicion before the elevator arrived and moved us both forward. "I texted him to tell him I was having dinner with a friend." The answer was pointed, clearly emphasizing her deception by omission. Guilt nudged at my chest as we rode the elevator up because I was just so relieved that she'd not mentioned my name specifically when addressing her father.

Through the elevator ride and the walk to my car, we both remained quiet save for a brief discussion on our destination. Remy's felt right and lacked the complication of something more formal and though it was left unsaid, was far enough from the loft and close enough to the precinct that it was unlikely that her father would come barging in our conversation.

She relaxed once we settled into the car, starting up a light conversation about several misadventures on her Vespa – mostly careless drivers getting too close and one guilt-ridden moment where she'd ridden it up on the sidewalk to get around a traffic jam. In turn, I carefully countered with selective stories about my motorcycle, steering away from the wilder, reckless things done in those early years of owning the machine. A few roadside breakdowns and one close call felt like plenty to share and if she noticed me holding back, she never let it show.

By the time I found a parking spot, she was grinning broadly, suddenly waxing poetic about a diner they stopped at on the way up to Martha's Vineyard, which featured chili cheese fries that she gushed were the 'best thing you could ever put in your stomach'. Once inside, I was shocked to see the meal she ordered, a thick bacon cheeseburger, a double order of fries covered with melted cheese, a side order of onion rings and a tall chocolate shake. I left off the extras, opting for a more basic cheeseburger and fries, trying to figure out where this girl was going to pack away all that food. But then pack it away she did, munching on one dish then another, picking over each little by little between stories about her internships.

In the back of my mind, I was still stuck on her question about her dad, forgotten back in the morgue, when she finally dropped the small talk halfway through her giant bacon cheeseburger, setting it down first to wipe her hands of the grease on a napkin. If she'd gone back to the original question, I might have been okay, but instead, she knocked me back against the booth. "So, is this my dad's mid-life crisis?"

I almost laughed because, somehow, she wasn't blaming me. As much as I didn't know what I'd done, I knew that I had done something to trigger all of this. It had been all too fast, too sudden, and this… new person that he was being was such a change in direction from the man he was, rather, the man he had become after my shooting. If I was honest, the change had begun almost three years earlier than that, with me. And maybe at first, it was just about a mystery he couldn't solve and adventure and a chase.

But it became about much more. It was Ryan and Esposito, Lanie, and suspects, and learning when to take things seriously. It was the effect of fully facing reality – dead bodies, yes, but also falling for the broken pieces of me just as much as he'd fallen for all that had survived. I wasn't ready to say any of it out loud, but the moment that progression ended, just how far he had come had been all up in my face, impossible to ignore.

But somehow, she seemed unaware of all of that. Or maybe just unwilling to blame me, because as much as she had to hate the danger I dragged her father into, after the bank, I knew too that even that was tinged with admiration and respect. Just another sign of the maturity she managed in spite of her father's attempts to wrap her up in a fantasy world.

"Maybe," became my first answer, given while biting down on a fry that I left poised mid-air while I considered how to continue. "It's been hard year for him," was part two, but I found that I was out of answers when it came to part three.

"Do you think it's because I'm going away?" Her question was so quiet, I scarcely caught it over the distant sounds of the kitchen.

Perhaps I could have lied then, softened this, but she wasn't asking for that. Here, she looked more like a woman, aged by worry and shadows and florescent lighting. Part of me was still a little surprised that she was sipping off a shake and not a beer for this particular conversation. "Probably to some degree. But I'm pretty sure there's more to it."

She took the implication I gave and then I saw the blame I'd been expecting leveled at me in a quick, questioning glare before she grabbed an onion ring. She held it in front of her mouth, hesitating. "I—I really don't want to get in the middle of… whatever. But you and my dad… Something changed, right?"

"Something, yeah. But truthfully, I'm as in the dark as you are. One day things were…" I lost my momentum and glanced up, finding her face tight and bracing for some sort of detail that was going to breach her boundaries. The rest of my answer rushed out then, eager to allay her fears that I might start spilling things she never wanted to know. "I think we were progressing. Towards something," I explained honestly. "But then one day… it just wasn't."

It wasn't the satisfying explanation she wanted, but I didn't have that to give her. So I watched as she sighed, slumped down into her seat deeper and stuffed the onion ring into her mouth, crunching as she considered her words. I reached for my own shake, sipping it to calm the tightness in my throat and hoping to calm the tightening flutter of nerves in my gut that were telling me just how stupid this whole idea was.

"It's just, he won't talk about it," she began, her statement quick and determined. "Or even acknowledge it. And that's the thing. We always talk. It may take a while and we may talk around it for a while, but we always talk. It's sort of our thing, you know? We talk and talk and when it gets too hard, we take a break. Play a game or I go out with my friends, but we come back to it. But it's like he's got this wall."

I froze at that term, heavily thunking my shake back onto the table, listening as she continued, aware of my reaction to her all too familiar terminology.

"He's hiding behind bimbos and his books and his tour. And when I try to get through to him, I know he feels guilty because he drags out laser tag or monopoly or charades because he knows I can't resist how he lets me be a kid again. And usually that's good. But it used to be the break and now it's just… That's all I get," her voice broken and she looked up from her plate. She was pleading for answers and I wondered if she thought I was holding them back, protecting her from some awful thing that happened to turn Castle into an ass.

I was sweating, never mind that it wasn't hot. Just pure nerves and emotion were overheating me and I peeled off my jacket, using the time to try to think of something, anything to say to the girl. In my mind, I started and stopped, considering telling her about Sophia or nearly dying in the Hudson River, or maybe even about my mother, but they're all just pieces. Pieces she had already, different though they may be. What she needed was the final picture and I just didn't have it. "For what it's worth… he won't talk to me either. I ask him to drinks or dinner and he says he already has plans. And then he's gone before I can even ask the question…"

She didn't ask what the question was, just nodded, picking up her bacon cheeseburger and taking a huge bite that seemed far too big for her small lips. Something was on her mind, swirling as she chewed the big chunk she'd bitten off. Once she swallowed, her lips pursed for a moment and her head tilted, considering me carefully. "I've heard some of what you've said to Lanie. I wasn't eavesdropping, I swear, just, it's quiet down there you know. And sometimes the sound just carries…" Pausing there, she checked me again and I did my best to not let the anxiety that this little thought gave me show in my expression. She was being honest and I was trying to be, so I do my best to let it go. "I just… It changed my mind, you know. I was angry with you. Even after you saved him… But… You meant what you said to Lanie, right? About your feelings…?"

The question hung in the air and I just sat there, probably wide eyed. My stomach was too unsteady to eat and so I grabbed a fork, rubbing my thumb against the grip to try to pull together all the thoughts that were racing through my mind. "Yes, yes I did."

She nodded again and I expected her to offer an opinion or perspective. But we remained silent and she finished her cheeseburger, then moved back to her lingers fries.

"If he'd listen," I blurted suddenly. "I'd tell him."

The words seemed to surprise her as much as they surprised me.

It felt a little like a lie because in truth, I could have blurted it out dozens of times. Forced him to hear me. But how was I supposed to confess my love for him when he was actively pushing me away, erecting his own walls to replace the ones that he'd been working to crumble inside of me?

Those blue eyes held on my face as nipped at the fries wedged into her fingers. When I didn't say anything else, she exhaled, blowing upward and fluttering her bangs before resuming her dinner.

We ate silently. For her part, Alexis seemed to swallow my blurted confession quickly – after that moment of shocked staring – but I was fighting a headache and a shaky stomach and each bite felt like swallowing stones, grinding their way down my throat. Soon, our food was nearly gone and everything felt awkward. Strained. She seemed content, but I was still at a loss, feeling as though I'd only made the situation far more complicated than it had been only a few hours earlier.

A waitress swept by, cleaning away our plates and leaving us with our half-empty shakes and the bill. I realized that the other part of Alexis's questions still lingered in the air. It was the only part of our conversation that I'd felt even slightly prepared for, yet somehow we'd managed to talk about everything else, except for her decision to work in the morgue.

"For what it's worth," I finally managed. "I stand by what I said before about working with Lanie. It's not an easy thing, dealing with death all day. It's hard. But I think you're more than mature enough to handle it. You said you were looking for a real experience, a challenge, and I think this internship fits that on a lot of different levels."

"But what about innocence and fun? Normal teen things?" she countered, wrapping her words in finger quotes.

I couldn't help but laugh, hearing Castle's voice in my head mentioning those exact things. "Like laser tag?" I quipped, pulling out my wallet to lay down enough to cover our bill.

That earned me a laugh and an eye roll which I couldn't help but partially attribute to my influence on this young woman. "Okay, I'm kidding to some degree. But if there are 'teen things' you'd like to do before going away to college, I'm sure you could find the time to do them. If not, then it's likely that any internship would have interfered. As to innocence…"

Pausing for a moment, I looked up to find her listening with rapt attention, those blue eyes focused somewhere around my mouth. With my stomach still churning, I managed to continue, "As to that, I'm pretty sure that at your age, it's slipping away with each passing day in all sorts of ways. Working in the morgue just means that you're approaching that particular set of issues by choice and with forethought – which hopefully is a good way to learn."

We both sat back silently against the seats as the waitress approached, collected my cash and left my change on the table. Once she walked away, Alexis followed the woman's departure with her eyes until the waitress disappeared into the kitchen. Only then did Alexis speak, deliberately clearing her throat before declaring, "We should probably get going."

I nodded in agreement, slowly sliding out of the booth to watch her pull her corduroy jacket more tightly around herself as she pursed her lips in thought. "Let me give you a ride home," I suggested, my hand reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder as she rose.

Glancing down at her watch, she nodded and together we walked back out to find that night had fully come to the city, the black sky floating above the still overly bright street. Once we were back in my Crown Vic, she settled in, turning herself to half face me, resting her shoulder against the door. As I pulled out, I glanced over to find her leaning her elbow against the window frame, fist propped under her chin as she watched me. It felt strange, her eyes focusing on me as we began to drive towards the loft.

At first, neither of us talked. But after a few blocks, she let out a little sigh and rolled down the window, turning her face to the breeze as she said, "Thanks, Detective… I…"

Her voice trailed off and I glanced over to find her head ducked down and what seemed to be a faint blush staining her cheeks.

"Not necessary, really," I offered, trying to extend her a smile. When I reached out and sought out her hand, I surprised myself and her, but she accepted it, letting me tuck her fingers against mine. I found myself wanting to offer her something, but it felt like too much, especially with things being the way they were, but it also felt truthful and right in my gut, so when it came out of my mouth, I was mostly certain that I meant to say it. "You're welcome to give me call anytime you want to talk. Regardless of… whatever it is that's going on with your dad and I. Especially once you're off to college. I remember those days and sometimes calling a guy… it's just not the same and I hope at this point you understand that I think of you as part of my sort of unofficial family. I mean – Martha is great, but I know she's…" I trailed off, head shaking, suddenly unsure of exactly what kind of descriptor I'd meant to insert at the end of that particular sentence.

"Old? Over-dramatic? Prone to over exaggeration?" Alexis finished for me with a slight laugh. She was grinning broadly, nodding in response to my statement when I stole a glance at her and seemed to have pulled herself back from whatever had been at the root of her embarrassment. "Yes, Grams is definitely the _last_ person I need sometimes. So thanks. And I'm pretty sure we all think of you… like that too. Unofficial family."

She dropped my hand then and dug into her purse suddenly, pulling out her phone. Her face crinkled as she eyed the caller-id as the phone flashed and vibrated in her fingers. "It's dad," she tossed at me with a quick glance, then lifted the phone to her ear. "Hey Dad," she answered cheerfully, then blanched as she listened to the other end of the line. "Sure. I'll actually be home in a few minutes, I'm already on my way…" As she paused again, she frowned slightly and glanced over at me and then around at where we were. Suddenly, she gestured to the curb, head jerking along with her finger pointing to the parking place there. "Yeah, I'm walking. I'll meet you in the lobby. See you there."

As she tucked away the phone quickly, I pulled over, surprised at the ease with which she'd just lied to her father. Once I stopped completely, she unbuckled her seat belt, then turned to look at me. "Sorry about that, I just sort of want to keep this talk between us… especially with how he's been acting lately. I don't really like lying to him, but at the same time, he's really not acting like himself."

I just nodded. "Probably for the best. We can always fill him in later on, once he works through… whatever this is." I said it with far more confidence than I felt, but gave her a smile anyway, squeezing her hand before releasing it. With that, she opened the door and exited turning back to give me a little wave.

"Thanks again, Det – Kate. And thanks for dinner. Goodnight," she called, then let the door shut.

"See ya, Alexis, I called, rolling down the window slightly so she could hear me. I watched her walk down the block before pulling out into traffic, watching her turn the corner and key into her building before taking off completely.

It wasn't until much later that night, as I talked to a frustrated Lanie, on the phone from my apartment, that it truly sunk in just how much I had admitted that evening. The tightness is my stomach had subsided but I found myself surprisingly at ease with what I'd said. After hanging up the phone and climbing into bed, I drifted off to sleep to the thought that if he wasn't going to listen, then I'd just have to show him. That maybe that would lead to answers for both of us.


End file.
